


Take Me There

by coffeejunkii



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Ianto get some hands-on experience with <i>The Joy of Gay Sex</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me There

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas, joester and rurounihime, as well as to my britpickers msdaccxx and ell_dee!

The book looks innocent enough, propped up against the espresso machine and with a red bow on top. However, Ianto wouldn't consider _The Joy of Gay Sex (Revised and Expanded Third Edition)_ innocent reading material. Enticing, yes. But not innocent. Or work-appropriate. Which really leaves no doubt in his mind as to who left the book for him (considering where Ianto had found it, he has no doubt about who the intended recipient is, either).

He picks up the book, deposits the red bow in the appropriate recycling bin, and crosses the Hub to Jack's office.

Jack is flicking through the previous night's Rift activity logs. Ianto places the book right on top of the documents, which earns him a smile. "I see you found it, then."

"I did." Ianto leans against the corner of Jack's desk. "What made you think I didn't already own a copy?"

Jack's smile widens. "Do you?"

"Yup. Matter of fact, I do."

If Jack is surprised, he doesn't show it. "Well, we could always keep this one around here. For reference's sake."

Ianto considers telling Jack about propriety at work and how that doesn't mix too well with the contents of that book. But the fact that most of their encounters so far have taken place at the Hub after everyone else has left for the day, that assessment might come across as a bit hypocritical. "That's an excellent suggestion."

Jack slides the book in the top drawer of his desk and turns back to his reports. "Coffee?"

"Coming right up."

Ianto is about to step out of the office when Jack's voice calls him back. "Perhaps you could mark a few chapters you like in particular."

Amused and intrigued, Ianto replies, "I could."

***

That evening, Ianto leaves work relatively on time (that is to say, he only stays an hour and a half longer than Gwen and Owen, and half an hour after Tosh left, plus ten minutes for a handjob that is over in an embarrassingly short time, but Jack seemed pleased with himself so Ianto doesn't mind too much).

Ianto acquired his own copy of _The Joy of Gay Sex_ after Jack had asked him out on a date the day he came back—a date they still have not been on. It never hurt to be prepared, Ianto decided, and while it had been interesting (and satisfying) to let Jack take the lead when it came to moving beyond the basics, Ianto likes to be on an equal footing, at least where the theoretical side of things is concerned.

He spends the evening making a list of chapters he'd enjoy exploring, ranking them from most to least favourite, then assembles a similar list of what he thinks Jack's favourites might be, and finally merges the two lists into one that balances both of their preferences according to levels of technical difficulty (Jack's hands-on experience will certainly be of use with a few of the items on the list). The notes Ianto previously scribbled into the margins, ranging from "enjoyable" to "must try again" to "makes Jack come in five minutes flat," are most helpful in compiling the final list.

Ianto will also have to go shopping for the necessary kit. He jots down a few notes on his PDA in the hope of getting Jack's input on preferred brands and materials before heading to the shower for a well-deserved wank.

***

"You mentioned you had some questions?" Jack asks, cornering Ianto at the espresso machine the next day.

Ianto indeed mentioned that he needed to discuss his planned shopping trip, but thinks he made it abundantly clear that this would have to be a private conversation. "Maybe we should wait until—"

"The others all seem rather occupied." Jack crosses his arms in front of his chest and cocks his head in an expectant manner. "Consider this a mental break from a taxing work day."

Ianto glances around the Hub. Tosh and Gwen are at their respective stations, and Owen is nowhere to be seen, which hopefully means he is not on the walkway directly above them watering one of this plant experiments. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Ianto fishes his PDA out of his pocket. "The items in question are marked in red."

Jack leans in closer to look at the screen, his hand a warm weight low on Ianto's back. "Hmm, number one is fine by me. Three, good choice. And seven...well, you know, I don't really have a preference there. All lube available in this century is substandard anyway. As long as you stay away from the flavoured ones, I'm good. God, the lube always runs out much faster than you think it will, doesn't it?" Jack shakes his head, staring off into space for a few seconds before looking back at Ianto.

Ianto hopes Jack's voice doesn't carry quite as well as he always thinks it does. "I think it runs out in equal proportion to how frequently you use it," he replies in a low voice. "And personally, I always thought that raspberry added an interesting touch."

"I'm fond of hazelnut," Tosh's voice cuts in.

Ianto straightens abruptly. Jack's hand slips away from his back, but he makes no move to leave Ianto's personal space.

Topping off her coffee, Tosh continues, "Takes away that bitter edge, you know?"

Ianto and Jack share a look.

"Coffee syrup. That was what you were talking about, wasn't it?" Uncertainty appears in Tosh's eyes.

"Of course," Ianto replies promptly. He quickly flips the PDA in her direction and back towards himself. "Shopping list. Always running out of the necessities around here, it seems."

Jack hides his grin behind his hand.

"Great." Tosh stirs two teaspoons of sugar into her coffee. "I think Owen likes vanilla, by the way," she adds while walking back towards her station.

"I just bet he does," Jack affirms. "Never struck me as the adventurous type, despite all the talk."

Ianto rolls his eyes.

***

Much to his surprise, Ianto once again finds The Book (as he has taken to calling it) sitting next to the coffee machine when he comes to work the next morning. A piece of paper—torn off an old autopsy report—marks one of the later chapters (Ianto can only hope this isn't a crucial report; he'd have to check the records later).

Opening The Book, Ianto thinks this chapter is a rather interesting choice, considering they have definitely been over this a few times. Very thoroughly, in fact. Ianto ponders Jack's possible reason for picking this particular chapter as he sets to making coffee. Considering Jack's enthusiastic reactions the two times Ianto ventured into this territory, his technique couldn't have been that appalling, but then again, everything related to sex elicits a positive response from Jack.

Carrying Jack's striped mug in one hand and a folder in the other, Ianto crosses the Hub.

"Morning." He places the coffee and the file in front of Jack.

"Ah, just what I needed." Jack's eyes close as he sips his coffee.

Pride spikes through Ianto, a smile quirking his lips. "Glad to hear it, sir."

Jack's eyes open and his gaze lingers on Ianto when he observes, "Perfect as always."

Ianto acknowledges him with a quick nod, eyes flicking to the file. "These are the preliminary results from the re-routed CCTV footage of Weevil hotspots."

"Yes?" Jack opens the folder and rifles through the photos and print-outs.

"It's too early to say anything about specific patterns, but Tosh is confident that we'll be able to establish some rough estimates once we have more data."

"Great start. Ask Tosh if she can get her hands on the camera at the intersection of Allensbank and Llanishen. That should get you some good results." Jack goes back to his coffee while looking through the surveillance photos one more time.

Ianto notes Jack's suggestions on his PDA. After sliding it into his pocket, he remarks casually, "I saw The Book. Interesting choice." Ianto trails a finger along the edge of Jack's desk (it needs dusting rather desperately).

"One of my favourites."

Ianto looks up. "Really?"

"Oh yes." Jack sets down his mug and gathers the print-outs back into the folder. Rounding his desk, he hands the file back to Ianto.

"I thought we'd explored our options in that regard rather exhaustively already."

Jack turns more fully towards Ianto, standing close enough for the row of buttons on his shirt to catch on Ianto's suit sleeve. "There are always ways to tweak the experience. To make it more...challenging."

"Such as?" Ianto forces himself to remain perfectly still.

"A change of positions, for instance." One of Jack's hands comes to rest flat on his desk, and he shifts his weight to lean on it. A shift that also brings him closer to Ianto. With a turn of head, Jack's lips hover near Ianto's ear. "You could stand where you are now, for example. I'll come up behind you to undo your belt. Lower your zipper. Your trousers fall down, but you don't step out of them. Your boxers are next, a long slow slide down your legs. By the time they hit your ankles, I'm already kneeling behind you."

Ianto's eyes lose their focus.

"It doesn't take long for you to completely open up for me, but I don't stop. I'm not going to stop until your knees buckle and you think my tongue is in your throat. Your hand's flying over your cock and your legs are straining as if you've run a marathon—"

"Jack, if you've got a moment, there is—oh hi, Ianto," Gwen cheerfully announces as she saunters into the office.

Ianto can't speak. Or turn around to face Gwen. Forcing air into his lungs is all his brain manages.

"Is this a bad time?" Gwen asks.

"Not at all," Jack replies. He sounds remarkably calm (is this another fifty-first century trait? Projecting utter calm while remarkably aroused?). Jack waves Gwen closer. "Ianto and I just finished going over the new Weevil monitoring project."

Ianto clears his throat. "Right." He glances at Jack and sincerely hopes that the look communicates his current loathing for his boss.

Jack's shrug is a half-hearted apology at best. "Show me what you got," he tells Gwen.

With the folder placed strategically in front of his lower body, Ianto leaves Jack's office to head to the loo, only taking a very quick detour to place the file on Tosh's desk and to scribble a nearly illegible note to her.

Once safely in the loo, he has barely locked himself into a cubicle when the main door bangs open, shortly followed by a demanding, "Ianto?"

"Oh, thank god," Ianto whispers to himself. He undoes the latch. "In here, Jack."

***

Ianto spends the rest of the morning upstairs in the tourist office, with the sign on the door flipped to "Closed." Determined to pick up exactly where Jack had left off earlier, he needs to research how to remove questionable stains from antique wooden desks, and he prefers to remain undisturbed.

***

Ianto's research pays off the next day.

He also discovers that being pressed down against a hard surface for a prolonged period of time causes a resurgence in back pain (a holdover from a year ten rugby injury). He bills Torchwood for the necessary massage therapy, feeling entirely justified to put "work-related injury" on the expense report form.

***

Ianto half-heartedly picks at the remains of his lunch. Jack is working his way through a third helping of Chicken Balti, casting surreptitious glances at Ianto from across the table between bites. The rest of the team has left in search of coffee (which Ianto thinks is an excuse for getting some fresh air, and not a criticism of his brewing skills. Considering they've all been at the Hub since 4am, he can't blame them for wanting to escape for a while).

"Have you had a chance to look at the chapter yet?" Jack asks.

Ianto pushes his leftover rice into a small hill on his plate. "Skimmed through it this morning until Owen demanded help with some medical supplies that had come in."

"And?"

Opening the book to that particular page had been a surprise, to say the least. Surprising that Jack would ask that of him. Ianto carefully sets down his fork. "I don't want to hurt you."

Quiet falls over the conference room for an intake of breath or two, broken by the muted squeak of Jack pushing his chair back. He sits down next to Ianto. "You can't really hurt me, you know that. Not in a physical way, at least."

Ianto realises he should have put that differently. "I don't want to cause you any pain."

"If you're doing it right, you won't."

Conviction fuels Jack's words, as if it was unimaginable that Ianto might not be up to the task, or make mistakes. What a laughable idea. If there is anything Ianto is exceptionally good at, it's making mistakes.

"There is rather a big difference between having read up on it and putting it into practise." Ianto looks up at Jack, daring him to contradict.

If anything, Jack's conviction increases. "Absolutely." He eases forward in his chair and into Ianto's space. "But we can go slow, and I'll talk you through it. We've been there halfway already on a few occasions."

"Four fingers is _not_ my entire hand."

"It's a start." Jack pauses until he knows he has Ianto's complete attention. "But we don't have to do it. It's not something you want to attempt if one of the parties feels uncomfortable or unsure." He stands up, squeezing Ianto's shoulder. "Will you think about it?"

Ianto starts gathering plates and empty take away containers. "Of course."

Jack halts in the doorway. "It can be very—" He looks away from Ianto for a moment, frowning. "It's not something I'd do if my heart wasn't in it."

Ianto knows this look, the intense gaze Jack directs at anyone whenever he wants them to grasp something that falls outside of what can be expressed in words. "I understand."

***

Try as he might, Ianto can't stop thinking about it.

His mind keeps drifting as Tosh briefs the team on the Weevil CCTV monitoring project, seeing diagrams from the chapter instead of graphs and numbers on the screen. The fingers of his right hand draw together tightly, thumb tucked into his palm.

Ianto isn't even fully aware of what he's doing until he feels Jack's curious gaze on his hand. Steadily looking back, Ianto curls his fingers until blunt nails dig into soft flesh and skin stretches white over his knuckles.

Jack's lips part.

Ever so slowly, Ianto rotates his wrist. The back of his hand brushes the warm wood of the table and he releases the hold on his fingers, flexing them. The stretch in his muscles works its way up to his elbow, his arm a long line down to his fingertips.

He can almost feel Jack's shallow breaths on his skin.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, get a room," Owen mutters.

Ianto's hand quickly slips under the table, and Jack looks studiously down on his notes.

"...possibly predicting Weevil—what?" Tosh asks, eyes darting distractedly around the room.

Owen gestures at Jack and Ianto. "Our lovebirds here need a course on the proper boundaries of office romances."

"Oh, leave off," Gwen admonishes.

"Hey, you did not sit through rude gestures," Owen retorts.

Ianto clears his throat. "If we could get back to the subject at hand."

Jack doesn't even try to hide his grin. "Yes, Tosh, please continue."

Tosh hits the space bar on her laptop. "As I was saying, if we manage to get approximately fifty more hours of CCTV footage, we could..."

Her voice fades to pleasant background noise as Ianto inspects his nails. They are short, but perhaps not short enough. The lube he bought last week won't suffice either if he correctly remembers the few things from the quick read-through of the chapter. Both of these matters will be easily taken care of.

As for the rest of it—one more thing from the chapter rises up from Ianto's memory. _Process_. Steadiness. No rush or haste. Not a stolen moment in Jack's office or the loo or the archives.

Ianto smiles.

***

They are all bone-weary by the time they stumble back to the Hub. There have been too many days this week that have begun or ended at 4am. Weevil unrest, time loops, shadows coming to life—and now this, five teenagers (three girls, two boys, none of them older than fourteen) torn limb from limb by a creature that has apparently resided in Bute Park for years. Without their knowledge (an inexcusable mistake).

"Let's just get this over with," Jack announces as the steel door creaks open to allow them entrance to the Hub.

Myfanwy cries out piteously, circling restlessly above their heads. Ianto silently curses for forgetting to set out extra food for her before rushing out on this latest mission in the early afternoon. Maybe a chocolate bar will placate her.

Going through the motions of refilling Myfanwy's food and water dishes, Ianto wonders what the rest of the team might need. Food—that would be a no if the others feel like he does (despite the tightening of his stomach, he might not eat much for days). Coffee—too much of a jolt. No need to add to the mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. Tea, then. And biscuits.

He takes a tray over to Tosh's workstation where everyone has gathered for the quick debriefing. Owen is writing up a preliminary report (strange how he's the only one who doesn't show any outward signs of their long days of late; who would have thought that death would be good for one's complexion?). Gwen stands off to the side, quietly talking on her mobile (to Rhys, most likely). Ianto had been sure she would beg off of the debriefing, but there hadn't even been the slightest hint that she wants to go home as soon as possible. Tosh and Jack are already in the midst of planting cover stories, multiple windows showing photographs, surveillance streams, and data on Tosh's screen competing for their attention.

Jack's hand holds on to Ianto's after he receives his mug. Contact that lasts no longer than a fleeting moment, but long enough to make it necessary for Ianto to remind himself to move on, to hand the next cup to Tosh instead of moving closer to Jack (into his arms, to feel those hands on his back, his side, his face. To close his eyes and leave this day behind).

It takes another hour and a half to tie up most loose ends. There is only the police records database left to take care of (Ianto has developed a loathing of server maintenance that is scheduled for the middle of the night and thus makes their lives more difficult), but Tosh promises to work on it from her flat.

He gathers used mugs as the others locate coats and car keys. This may be the first time that Ianto is tempted to leave the mugs in the sink because his eyes are burning with exhaustion and he nearly trips over a slight unevenness in the floor. But doing the washing up means being able to linger a bit longer, to have a few moments of quiet. He hears the faint noise of the door rolling open and closed over the stream of water, followed by footsteps that sound strong and sure (are they ever not?).

"You don't have to do that now," Jack says, a rare softness in his voice.

"I don't mind."

Jack leans across him and shuts off the water. "Come on. You look like you need something stronger than tea."

Ianto follows Jack into his office without any protest. Scotch isn't his favourite, but it will do. It's unsurprising that Jack only pours a shot for Ianto. At another time, Ianto might care about that, about the potential to let down his guard while the other party maintains theirs, but the hold he has on the rational part of his brain is slim at best right now.

"If you want this to actually make a difference, there isn't nearly enough in that glass," Ianto remarks.

Jack studies him for a moment and opens the bottle again.

There is nothing pleasant about the way the Glenfiddich burns down Ianto's throat but he welcomes the warmth that begins to spread outward from his stomach. Jack sits on the opposite side of the desk, one hand briefly swiping over his face.

"Long day," Ianto says.

"Yeah. Too long." Jack leans back in his chair, elbows propped up on the armrests and fingers stapled in front of him.

Ianto watches as Jack's eyes lose their focus. The frown doesn't disappear, however, and Ianto wonders if Jack is trying to unearth clues that could have prevented what happened, overlooked hints buried under years of memories.

Finishing his drink, Ianto stands up. "Let's go to sleep." Thoughts and words don't often overlap for Ianto, but he doesn't mind that this thought slipped past his lips without prior, careful examination.

Jack's eyes clear with a blink, and he rises as well. "You're staying?"

Ianto nods, pleased to see the relief in Jack's eyes. It's good to know he isn't the only one who doesn't want to be alone tonight.

Jack's hand brushes over Ianto's nape and back as he moves past him to climb down the ladder. After switching off the lamp on Jack's desk, Ianto follows.

***

The dream slips away as soon as Ianto opens his eyes. He can't hold on to more than flashes of rain and the feeling of cold pavement under his knees. The scream of a woman. Fear twists in his chest. Its origins are unclear to Ianto but that doesn't make it any less real. He knows he can't keep lying in the darkness, not even with Jack next to him.

He slips out of bed and pulls on socks before making his way upstairs. The dim light of the Hub at nighttime helps to ease the twisting coils inside of him. Retrieving his diary from behind the espresso machine, he sits down on the sofa, one leg tucked under him, and starts to write.

Ianto isn't aware of Jack's presence until he speaks. "Can't sleep?"

"No." Ianto finishes the sentence before he looks up. Jack is wearing striped pyjama bottoms and nothing else. Perhaps he should be more drawn to Jack's chest or arms, but it's the bare feet he can't stop staring at. The Hub's concrete floors are like slabs of ice even when the heating is set to High. Ianto tucks the blanket he found in the emergency clothes pile closer around himself.

Jack sits down next to him. "Don't mind me."

Ianto doesn't. Balancing the diary on his lap, he continues to write. The position is uncomfortable—hunched over the book, one arm across its top to hold down the page he's writing on—but it's the same one he's always used for capturing his thoughts on paper, and the certainty of that alone makes up for slightly strained muscles.

Jack's hand finds its way to Ianto's back, moving up and down before settling at his nape. "Always so tense," he murmurs.

Jack's fingers search and find knots Ianto wasn't even aware of. He tries to keep writing but Jack is too insistent. Ianto finds a safe spot for diary and pen on the floor under the sofa before handing himself over to Jack's care.

"We used to go to that park," Ianto hears himself saying. "When we were their age. Thought we were dead daring sneaking off in the middle of the night."

Jack's hand stills.

"First time I snogged someone was just off that clearing where—where we found them." Ianto doesn't even know why he's telling Jack these things.

The hand on Ianto's back slides down to his waist. "I'm sorry," Jack whispers and kisses the side of Ianto's neck.

Ianto turns towards those lips. It seems like it has been days since he last kissed Jack (and it probably has been. The Rift hasn't given them much time alone this week). Jack's mouth opens easily and eagerly to his.

Of all the things they've done together, kissing is still Ianto's favourite. It doesn't short-circuit his brain (as Jack does when he drives into Ianto, short, precise strokes that make him want to jump out of his skin), but it consumes him. Especially the languid kisses when Jack's hand comes up to the side of his face, and which don't stop even when breathing becomes difficult. In those moments, there is no doubt in Ianto's mind that Jack is fully there with him.

They part and the certainty fades. Ianto wants to hold on to it, wants to feel the same reassurance in the way Jack's thumb still slides over his cheek, but he can't.

"Ianto," Jack whispers. It sounds like a plea.

"Back to bed?" Ianto didn't know that's what he wants until he says it.

Jack searches his eyes, then nods.

***

Once they're back in Jack's quarters, Ianto's main objective is to strip as quickly as possible and to get under the covers (it's always about five degrees colder down here than up in the main part of the Hub). But Jack's arm winds around his back and pulls him close before Ianto's even touched a stitch of his clothing. A hand darts underneath Ianto's T-shirt, sliding up his chest. Jack's thumb purposefully catches on a nipple, and Ianto's heartbeat doubles when Jack leans in to whisper in his ear.

"What do you want?" Jack's lips briefly press against Ianto's skin.

"I—" Ianto begins, and stops. Jack's done this a few times, asked him to say out loud what he can barely form into coherent thoughts, especially not when Jack's hands are teasing him like this.

"C'mon, Ianto."

Jack's nails rake over his side, strong lines up and down. Ianto's muscles quiver and there's gooseflesh on his arms that has nothing to do with the cold air in the room.

"All right, how about some options?" Jack's voice has a ragged edge to it. "We can make it quick and dirty. My hand on your cock. Ten strokes and you're done." His hand brushes the front of Ianto's boxers. "Maybe nine. Or I can get on my knees and suck your brain out. Or maybe you'd like to use those restraints again, the ones in the drawer over there, and fuck me, hard and fast, until I forget my name?"

Ianto latches on to the one coherent thought he has left: Get closer to Jack. His hands slide around to Jack's arse, holding on fast as he presses closer, until there is friction between them. Ianto's nose nudges against Jack's cheek in search of his mouth, but Jack turns his head away.

"Tell me first," he urges.

Ianto licks his lips. "Just—improvise." He goes after Jack's mouth again, more successful this time. Jack kisses back and brings his hand up to Ianto's nape, fingers tugging on the short hair there.

Jack pulls back a fraction and murmurs, "I can do that." He moves away from Ianto completely (the chilly air is a shock to Ianto's system and he can't suppress a stuttered gasp). "Take these off." Jack lets the elastic of Ianto's boxers snap against his skin. "T-shirt, too. Sit on the bed, back to the wall. Feet up on the mattress."

Ianto hurries through undressing and arranges himself on the bed while he watches Jack rummage around in the chest of drawers across the room. Jack tosses lube and condoms on the duvet. Ianto's glad nothing else from that drawer made its way over here because he isn't in the mood for that.

Jack crowds Ianto further against the wall when he kneels on the bed, his open thighs nudging Ianto's further apart. The concrete at Ianto's back feels like ice, and he shivers again until Jack's hand curls around his hip. The warmth is comforting; it is even more soothing when the hand slides around to the small of Ianto's back.

Jack uncaps the lube, a sharp crack in the otherwise silent room. "Talk to me, okay?"

Ianto nods. This is all familiar—the slick sound of Jack rubbing his hands together, the sure way in which Jack's fingers push into him. They feel cold at first, but Ianto suppresses the oncoming shudder. "Feels good," he encourages.

Two fingers become three. Ianto's eyes slide closed. He's trying to imagine what it might be like if Jack didn't stop there. At what point the initial discomfort would not turn into pleasure anymore (or maybe that point wouldn't come if Jack was careful enough and took his time?).

"One more?" Ianto asks and blinks his eyes open so he can see Jack's reaction.

Jack scrutinises him. "Are you sure?" There's precision to the question that admonishes Ianto to consider it carefully. It is clear that Jack will do what Ianto wants, but only if Ianto is certain of what he is asking for.

"Yes," Ianto replies, looking straight back at Jack.

There's more lube first, then more pressure. A lot more than Ianto is expecting and he instinctively scrabbles away from it. Or tries to, at least, because Jack's hand on his back keeps him in place.

"It's okay," Jack murmurs. "Deep breaths."

Ianto can only get his lungs to suck in shallow gasps of air. Jack's fingers turn a bit, which helps, but their combined force still comes down to _too much_.

"One more time. Breathe in." Jack pauses, watching Ianto carefully. Waits until Ianto follows his instructions. "Breathe out."

Ianto feels a minute ease on the pressure.

Jack nods. "Like that. Again."

On his fourth breath, something slots into place. Tension seeps out of his muscles, taking away the need to resist and struggle. Ianto feels as if he's settling deeper into his own skin, as if he's _there_ in a more profound way than before.

Jack's mouth quirks with a smile. There's understanding in his eyes. His fingers start to move, twisting and turning. Pushing in farther.

 _Fuck,_ Ianto mouthes, his capacity for speech somewhere beyond his reach. Sensations ripple outwards from his core, tearing through his brain with the insistent question of how much more he has left to give. The tiniest flexing of Jack's hand provides an immediate answer: so much more.

Ianto keens.

The low sound struggles out of his throat, but Jack reacts instantly—all his movements still. Concern makes itself known on his face. "Want me to stop?" He asks, rubbing his hand over Ianto's back.

"No." Ianto shakes his head and reaches between his legs to grasp Jack's wrist. Forces those fingers to start moving again.

Jack hums his approval. "How's this?"

The fingers that formed a tight unit before splay slowly. Ianto's head thuds against the wall and he arches into the movement. "Fuck, yes."

"And this?" Jack's fingers curl, and Ianto's body snaps taut. His toes dig into the duvet as he comes. Jack continues to push and press until the shudders coursing through Ianto ebb away. He takes care when easing his fingers out of Ianto, something for which Ianto is grateful, as every last of his nerve endings has been teased into overdrive.

A few moments pass by when Jack's eyes wander over Ianto's face, his chest, his legs, and back up to his eyes. Ianto tries to regain a semblance of composure, but he can't quite stop the trembling in his thighs. Jack's palms smooth over the overworked muscles, which helps, but doesn't take away the jittery feeling completely.

"Is it—" Ianto begins once he trusts his voice. "Is it like that?"

Jack nods slowly. "You're—you're being taken beyond your boundaries, and you feel the need to pull back, but then there's this moment where everything..." He pauses. "Falls into place. And you realise your partner knew that already. That he's the one who took you there." The last words are so quiet they almost come out as a whisper.

Understanding wells up in Ianto; instinctive, immediate knowledge, so different from the insights he usually gains from adding fact to fact. It was the calm in Jack's voice, the insistence that Ianto ought to continue, the reassurance of his instructions that allowed this surrender.

Jack gathers Ianto closer. "I want you to take me there."

Ianto settles into Jack's lap, relishing the warmth that soaks into his skin. He folds his arms around Jack's shoulders and whispers, "Then I will."

 

The end.


End file.
